Elder Scrolls Scribes
by Cakes Kegs Eggs
Summary: The Dunmer living incarnation of their hero was last rumored to be on an expedition. Cyrodiil's seventh Champion simply had disappeared forever behind some portal on Niben Bay. And Skyrim's Dragonborn was coming. Then they met each other. Tamriel is not ready for these three - Mai'q the Liar. - On Hiatus, see profile.
1. Prologue

**Summary: To reset the current Kalpa like before? Or rewind everything as if Nirn never happened. Whatever the option, the world is going to end but how? Two champions of the previous Events are not going to step aside. In fact they can't step aside. They were drawn there, oblivious but where was the third, the champion in making, the hero of this Event? Hurry now, the World-Eater is back.**

* * *

Somewhere in Aethurius, three gods gazed deeply into Nirn.

* * *

A man woke up in startle, his gasp breaking the night's silence sharply. The air was cold under the shadows of the Jerall's mountains, giving a chill but refreshing kiss against his bare bronze skin.

His breathed heavily, white mist escaped his mouth, seen faintly in the moonlights. From the wagon's end entry, between the slits of loose canvas flaps, he could see two bright sickle crescents sat on the tall mountainous horizon; one deep aquatic green, and a bigger one, vibrant red… like his eyes.

He stared at the moons from where he laid before the shuddering jolt jerked sharply up beneath him. The carriage shook as a wheel went over a protruding rock. The sound of horses' hooves thudding continued on. Scowling deeply, he swept the fur blanket off him then sat up straight on the hard wooden floor of the carriage.

The man pulled his purple hood up, tightening his mage's robe around him before slipping out of his bedroll. Taking the laid strange red-crystal-topped staff beside the bedroll, he moved up to the front of caravan, and untied a part of the canvas. He pulled the canvas flap aside and stared at the driver.

"Can't sleep?" the Dunmer asked.

Another rock went over and the wagon shuddered.

"Aren't you worried about bandits?" the Imperial man asked wryly even though completely aware the wagon is enchanted with every means of illusion spell – well not the ones that encourage violence.

"As long there's no rogue mages poking from far, the enchantment won't be weakened," the Dunmer replied calmly.

"You want me to take the shift now?" the Imperial asked.

"I'm fine. I prefer the night time," the Dunmer answered. Silence broke between them until a purse came from the dark elf. "I've never caught your name," he muttered.

The Imperial remained silent for a while. "I have many but I think," he said hesitatingly, "Sul will do," he added.

"Odd name. I expect a more… cyrodiilic," the Dunmer commented. "I have to ask. Why did you pick me? Don't you trust the Khajiit caravan?"

"I prefer sticking to small groups that has no reputation whatsoever," Sul answered shortly. "You haven't told me that name of yours."

"Vaden will be fine. The usual name would just get people tongue tied," the Dunmer added the last part. His red eyes twinkled in hidden humor then quickly vanished. "Skyrim is on shaky ground at the moment what with civil war. Not much traveler comes here anymore." A small inquiry tinged the end.

"I could say the same for traders like you," Sul replied to the gentle prob with a shrug.

"I have… business," Vaden answered flatly.

"We all do," the Imperial added quietly as he gazed at the sky above, filled with rippling auroras.

* * *

He stood there, bored and tired. His legs almost numbed and slightly ached by the hours of standing in the chill. Staring at the horizon, he noted the blue hue against the twinkling night sky. Dawn was coming. _Not long now_, he thought, his shift almost complete.

The sound of hooves thudded in the distant. The Imperial guard looked up. A carriage, no. It was more of a covered wagon what with a thick enchanted canvas tied over the arching bows. He guessed it's to carry storage and items in a more secured and preserved way. Of course, that meant bandits would definitely aim for this carriage. It _does_ look like it carries expensive stuff.

_Where are the guards though?_ Strangely, only two people were accompanying it. Hardly look they're enough to protect the contents in that wagon. They're more like passengers tagging along conveniently – well, _a_ passenger, he corrected when he noticed a hooded passenger lazing inside; and from the grey skin of the driver, a Dunmer to coach the four horses at the front.

"Halt!" he called out as the wagon approached the walls of Helgen.

The reins pulled and horses whickered. Moving past the team of horse – _Skyrim's beed_, he went up to the driver, fur-cloaked for Skyrim's cold weather and hiding much of the mer's figure. The Dunmer surprisingly stepped down from his seat and slid his hood back, as if to stand on equal footing. His calculating red eyes though settled on the Legion's armor.

"Let me see your trading pass," the guard ordered, just following procedure.

Coolly, the Dunmer pulled out a parchment bound with leather covering. He passed it into the Imperial's hand. The guard noted the silver wolf-shaped ring before opening up the folio.

Without looking up from the folio, he asked, "Name?"

The Dunmer grimaced. "Alandro Hlaalu or Telvanni or," he sighed, "Redoran. You pick," the dark elf added flatly.

Yup, definitely a Dunmer, the guard thought silently. "Heading for Whiterun, hm? With no guards at all?" he gestured at the lack of mercenary.

The Dunmer just smiled in reply. "It's just me and an extra passenger. Problem?"

Yeah, bandits that are known to ambush traders between patrols. "Suit yourself," the guard said flippantly as he handed back the folio. Not his fault if they get rob… or killed.

He glanced up at the passenger sitting against the inside the wagon. The bearded Imperial raised an eyebrow when he caught his eyes. Red and green eyes gazed into him. _Gods damn, how in the oblivion one get eyes like that?_ The guard thought quietly when he noticed Imperial's strange eyes. Not wanting to stare, he dropped his gaze onto a gold chain fastening the shawl into a royal purple cloak.

Amulets of various size and shape decorated evenly along the chain. Most prominently were the Nine Divine's, especially amulet of Talos that was dangling brazenly in the open with its Divine siblings. Quickly flicking his eyes back and forth, the Imperial caught his meaning. The collar of the shawl was quickly tugged over that particular part of the chain.

The guard sighed in relief. He did not want to report to the Thalmor. Every time he stands before them, all he could feel is the harsh rake of their eyes judging him as just a lowly man. And he was no ass kisser and was still a loyal worshipper of Talos… beneath. But unlike the Stormcloak, he was no big mouth.

"Carry on," the guard stepped aside and quickly motioned the guards on the watch.

It was about time to open the gates anyway. He turned around but stopped when he heard a call from his comrade. Looking back, a speck – a scout on a worn black horse burst out from the snowy distant. He stilled and waited, watching the figure grew larger and real until the living breathing scout was right before him.

"The roads are clear of bandits," the scout declared, breathing heavily a bit. "They're all lying dead at the sides, killed but not by us – judging from the wounds," he added and gulped.

The Imperial guard frowned at this. _Who could've done it?_

"And… this," the scout interrupted his silent question. Pale face still flushed, the scout fumbled through the uniform, then produced the report and handed to him.

With a quick read through, he knew General Tullius would want his hand on this immediately. Handing the report back, he quickly ordered the scout to the Legion's barrack. An important… prisoner was soon to arrive somewhere later in the morning.

* * *

The fourth witness joined up with the observers. "Father."

"_I know,_" came a rumbled reply.

A brief silence spread until a thickly accented voice cheered, "**I'm** _so_ going to enjoy this!"

"You enjoy putting misery onto Yourself?" a rich throbbing voice, female, asked amusedly.

"Dear _sister_," the voice answered in a friendly mocking tone, "you're asking this question to _meee_ here. And I'm sure your champion will also enjoy this," the voice chortled.

* * *

Horses needed to be fed, brushed, cleaned, and hooves have to be checked. And where is the tub to wash in? He was not going to dump himself in Skyrim's icy water just to get a wash. Vaden grumbled to himself as he brushed the third horse.

Bandits. It has to be bandits. They always ruin his mood. They always had. Nothing has changed about them throughout the decade of his unaging life. Ambush, plunder, try to wreck everything, only in his case, ambush, get killed by him and waste good resource just to survive the onslaught. His poor horses had to be the victims last night. Never mind that they were Skryim's hardy breeds.

And where was that mage? He looked up crossly then noticed the purple-cloaked Imperial was standing idly by the side, watching a unit of Legions escorting a grey-haired Imperial.

Rolling his red eyes, he picked up an idle piece of gravel from the road, and tossed it. It would have hit the side of that thick hood of his but it didn't. Strangely, the mage didn't need to turn at all when he neatly caught the rock.

To say Vaden's nerves are a bit tight this morning is an overstatement. He… just hates surprises. That's all. He didn't know what spell Sul used last night, but it teleports bandits hundreds feet up from the ground into the distant, which send them plunging down to their death with horrible screams. The worst thing about it is that Sul was sniggering and grinning at the sound of their demise.

The quirkiest part is that the mage was awful in the art of Restoration… so awful the spell's effect ended up being destructive. And he swear, the sound of chicken clucking followed by a _weeze_ and **_boom_** could be heard from one of the awry healing spells turned fireball. So exploding chicken as fireball that's supposedly to be a healing spell?

An explanation was demanded. Sul only answered with how he used to be a great healer, until oblivion _happened_. Whatever that meant, it made him silent and serious again. So he got a _slightly_ unhinged mage as a travelling companion, and perhaps a potential psychopath, judging from the manic demented look he was giving him last night.

But thank goodness he didn't ask the mage to heal his horses. Granted that he could've healed them himself, but his potion is better than his magic. Even Sul, who only got a sip, found himself choking at the potency of the potion's effect. Just a sip and good as new. But no one likes their medicine, Vaden's dry thought added sourly when he caught his horses eying him.

Vaden looked up when he heard the creak of wagon wheels moved past him. A group of Legions surrounded two wooden carts, escorting what looked like four sullen prisoners. He watched silently as they head towards one of the tower barracks, where the headsman was waiting in front at the courtyard.

Execution? Vaden frowned as he watched from the distant.

"Stormcloaks, caught on the borders of Cyrodiil," Sul's voice came from behind him.

"Why were they on the borders?" Vaden frowned. "The last thing I expect from rebels is on the front steps of their enemy," the Dunmer commented as the Imperials escorted the two groups of bound Stormcloak to the courtyard.

"Perhaps that was what they were aiming for. Being unexpectedly stupid," Sul replied quietly.

"Halt!" a harsh guttural woman's voice called out from the courtyard.

They watched quietly as a captive rushed pass by them. A swift whistle and he fall flat onto the ground with an arrow was on the back on his head.

"You disapprove of them," Vaden said quietly as he stared at the runaway's dead, stilled, bleeding body lying few feet away from them.

"I disapprove their blind attitude on bigger things and their childish squabble," the mage answered briskly as a grey-haired Imperial, probably the commander, berated at a gagged Stormcloak. "When there are crisis to recover from, they instead waste their effort in wars," Sul muttered in disgust.

"You're referring to the Imperials or Stormcloaks?"

"Both," the Imperial mage retorted then sighed heavily. "But then I'm just oversimplifying."

Silent pass by as the last of the prisoner, a small one amongst the many hardy soldiers, stepped down. Vaden immediately frowned.

"That," he pointed out a despondent Nord. "Is no Stormcloak. Just a young mortal," Dunmer muttered. "Barely twenty summers has seen," he commented on her young age.

Sul searched and noticed the Nord also. "One of the wilds," the mage commented when he noted the skittish side-stepped when one of the Imperial approached her.

"Careful with this one," a man commented. "She knocked out three of us with her own bare hands."

_One of the wilds_, Vaden echoed Sul's comment. How appropriate, judging from the messy state she was in. Wearing grey rags with her long dirty blonde hair more of a bird mess, skin stained with dirt and mucks, but her eyes were wide… reminded him of those deer caught in fright.

"Who are you?" one of the grim Imperials with the death list asked gravely.

There was no reply. None at all.

"Speak, prisoner!" the female commander barked.

She flinched in answer.

"The name, prisoner," the grim Imperial asked calmly.

She only shook her head.

"Can you talk? Speak? Can you understand?"

Another shook.

"She's a mute," Sul concluded flatly. "Not soft in the head though. Not soft at all," the mage shook his head as he murmured this softly.

Vaden wondered how the mage was sure on the last part. For all he knew, she may be soft headed in the head. Probably pushed out of her own village from superstition. It happened before, a baby born not with the right mind but too young to tell.

"No matter. It's the headsman block for you, anyway," the harsh captain snapped in the distant.

"By your orders, Captain," there was a resigned tone in the soldier's voice. "I'm sorry, kinsman. At least you'll die here, in your homeland." There was pity in his voice.

Vaden almost jumped when Sul grabbed his shoulder tightly. The mer turned and noticed the mage was looking up at the skies, searching for something.

"Did you hear that?!" he hissed sharply as his strange eyes scanned the cloudless skies.

"Hear what?" Vaden frowned and followed his sight.

There it was. A distant roar of some animal. It lingered and hung in the air. The mer frowned and stared at others. Strange, no one heard it or even noticed it… except for that savage prisoner, distracted by the sky while an Imperial firmly guided her to the block.

Another roar and Vaden immediately looked up. His marksman eyes scanned the skies quickly and noticed a flicker of black dot in the sun. The hair on the back of his neck immediately crackled in warning.

"We've got to go," Vaden said flatly and just turned around.

"Too late!" Sul shouted.

The sky shattered, and all of them stumbled to the ground as if it the weight of the skies doubled. Panic hammered in Vaden's chest as the feeling of despair pressed down on him as he grasped the ground. Instinct kicked in, he pushed himself up and scanned his surrounding sharply. The sky ablaze as the air shook around him, raining with fire. Skyrim's cold air gone, replaced by stifling, stinging heat that slapped against his skin. It was as if he's back at Red Mountain.

Searching as he stumbled to his screaming horses but stopped in mid-track. _Shit!_ He cannot abandon those tools! One was already lost in gods know where. _The others are not going to follow!_ He quickly spun around when he remembered and immediately sprinted to his wagon.

Reaching the wagon, he flung the canvas flap open, and scrambled quickly to the unassuming chest at the back. Pushing the other chest off it, he immediately fumbled for his keys and unlocked the chest. He snatched the Dwemer gauntlet and hammer.

Another roar and the world around him exploded. Wood all around burst into splinters, spraying all over him as the whole wagon tipped and crashed on its side, sending him and the whole items and chests on top off him. His ribs slammed hard onto one of the bow when flung hard against the side.

"Vaden!" a distant voice called amidst the screaming, yelling and smashing. "Vaden!"

The mer only lay still under all the heavy coffers.


	2. Another Crisis

"There he goes again," the fourth observer drawled.

"I'll take his place then," the fifth one said quickly.

"You always have."

"Does this happen often?" an amused voice asked.

"Oh yes. We can't really blame him after what the monkeys did to worsen his condition," the sixth observer answered with a motherly voice. "But ever since… the heart attack—"

"You mean Oblivion Crisis," the fourth observer interjected.

"Thank you, Arkay," the motherly voice dead-panned, "Ever since the _Oblivion Crisis_, he's been very Cyrodiil-ish."

"Probably because all of those dragonborn emperors that became him… or part of him."

"They always have been part of him. And all those emperor souls did after all became the avatar of _The_ _Dragon_."

A brief silence spread.

"Looks like your champion didn't make it," the amused voice commented.

"Think again, _brother_," the Queen of Dusk and Dawn smirked.

"I still think the apocalypse need more raining dogs in it," _He_ grumbled in reply, "especially _flaming_ raining dogs."

* * *

The world around Sul was raining fire. It was _on_ fire. It was Kvatch all over again. It was the Great War all over again. It felt like a dream, an awful dream. He thought he had awakened after all those centuries, but it seems not.

The nerve fate has for him. One step in and the world had to explode. A big warm welcome to Skyrim. A big warm welcome of his return to Nirn. Lovely.

Somewhere from above the black dragon roared. The sky shattered and exploded again. He stumbled as the world pressed down his shoulder. His amusement trickling down like sands in an hourglass while the world showered flaming fireballs all around him. The ground shivered as each fireball made contact, as if flinching at the heated contact.

Sul raised a spectral ward over his head immediately when one huge comet-sized fireball shot down towards him. It smashed against it, sending him skidding back across the ground as he stumbled. The lick of its flame crackling the hairs of his raised arm beneath his enchanted sleeves.

Another roar and the tower of Helgen erupted into pieces, shattered by the fierce dragon's voice. White glowing hot rocks rained down to the surrounding ground.

He struggled across the ground as he mind scrounged for what his eyes searching. _Where is the dark elf?!_

"Vaden!" he shouted but hardly heard while the world around was screaming as if the end is near. "Vaden!"

A horse screamed and Sul knew. He swiveled around just as a black horse skidded to a stop beside him, its red alien eyes wide and panicking.

"Mere!" the mage cried. Whether in jubilant or surprise, it did not matter. He immediately clambered up the black horse while the blazing skies were falling around them.

Without a word, the horse burst into speed with a mage clasped on it back, this time with a staff in his hand. The crystal-top hotly white as a ward shielded them in their escape.

They speed past falling houses, fleeing citizens with foolhardy Imperials storming up to a black scaly lizard perched on top of Helgen's stonewalls.

Glittering black, surrounded by fire, its red eyes brushed over the Imperials. The dragon looked up and shouted to the sky.

Instead of shattering everything around it, it resounds across the skies like the ripples caused when a stone dropped on a calm water. In his guts, Sul knew the black dragon was _calling_ out allies.

_Fools and idiots—_Sul thought of the Imperials but his eyes widened when out of nowhere, a white drake slammed against the black. _What in the OBLIVION is going on HERE?!_

* * *

Somewhere in Aethurius, five voices roared in disbelief. "You cheated!" they all snapped when the third observer came back.

"What?" he replied, trying to comprehend the accusation. "The prophecy said a Dragonborn. A soul of a dragon… of a Dov… with a shape, body, flesh of a mortal."

"You mean the shout… the calling… the one that literally brings nearby dragons back—"

"Brings the dragons _out_, _out_," the voice repeated. "But the question is out of _where_. Out of ground. Out of death. Out to the reality. Out of _here_."

"Out of its mortal prison state…" the fifth observer added quietly.

"This one just happens to respond to the shout that's all," the voice muttered dreamily and before they knew it, the third observer wandered off again.

A moment of silent. "Nice loophole."

One of the observers burst into laughter.

"I find this hardly amusing at all," a female voice dripped with disapproval.

"We can do things differently _now_. You do know that, right?"

* * *

So cold… so cold… he shivered violently. Red eyes opened and swiveled around to the surrounding wreckage. He moved his legs but pain immediately set his mind ablaze.

Vaden hissed as he got up painfully slow; pushing the chests off him. When he couldn't, he simply pushed himself from beneath the wreckage set on top of him. Squinting as his vision wobbled, he jerked his legs but almost screamed in pain. With trembling fingers and grinding teeth, he tenderly touched his legs but hissed. His legs were broken no doubt, due to some heavy coffer.

Not going to stop him. He's a Telvanni (granted a Telvanni who was with the Mage's Guild). And Telvanni are known to be notorious enchanters, and for their stubborn use of levitation spells.

Unfortunately, he was just an average mage when it comes to spells, any spells from any college. But an aspiring star when it comes to enchanting and alchemy… ever since that overdose incident. He was very lucky after that. Perhaps luck made him able to survive whatever happened here… whatever it was, he thought as he looked at the ruins around him.

From beneath the fur cloak he wore, the robes crackled in answer, responding to its master's distress. Enchanting after all is just infusing souls into inanimate objects, and the souls were simply responding. Vaden begin to float up like some wraith. He floated up vertically, sending the snows that had settled on top off him down.

Vaden saw white everywhere. He stared incredulously at the snowy field around him that spread thickly around him. Maybe it was an awful dream. The world set on fire all of sudden… like Red Mountain, he thought dreamily as he gazed.

Several layers of snow had piled on top of what looked like a ruin of a town. A blizzard had probably gone through it. This kind of weather was what Skyrim is famous for.

Frowning at this, Vaden begin to wonder. What in the Oblivion was he doing, sleeping in a wreckage… a burnt, soot-covered remnant of what looked like to be a wagon, his wagon. He stared at it for a while, noting the East Empire Company symbols engraved on the chests. Yup, those are his box.

So what are they doing in the snow? It's not like he slept through a blizzard… or maybe he slept over the apocalypse, he thought drily and groaned at his throbbing headache. Perhaps he did, perhaps he didn't. Time to find the answers to his current situation. And the only person who would know was that mage.

He sighed. He came here to find his lost artifacts and perhaps… do business. And this happens, he frowned darkly and bend down as he float, or more like float upside down as he searched through the wreckage. He found his chest full of his super potions. A wash of relief, he was grateful that all were still whole. Oh if that chest had been destroyed and all those potions broke… its chemical mixed with others. He would not have survived the wreckage.

Picking up one the red super potions, with tight concentration he heated up the end with a simple Flame spell. The wires that held the stopper melted. Uncorking the potion and a two huge gulp of his bitter medicine, his face immediately scrunched up, hair standing on its end as he legs _cracked_. The bones inside straightened, the sensation too numbed for him to feel as the potion's effect healed him.

Vaden scanned the wreckages again once he drunk a stamina potion. Most of the chest hardly looked damaged… good because his equipment are in there. Especially the dearest artifacts he always carries with him.

He settled down on the cold snow with the light elevating feeling leaving him. Searching for one of huge chest, he immediately opened them with a key. The chest was enchanted to resist spells such as Open… and only the one with the key can open it.

Lifting the lid, two shining Dwemer curved blades greeted him, one glowing flaming white-orange, the other electric blue. There was also a spear. Reaching out for them, he stopped when he remembered. _The hammer and the gauntlet, but first…_

He picked up the blades, immediately sheathed them into his belt after tying a cloth to cover the blades. Unfortunately, no scabbards in existence could hold them. When he did try, with the best quality scabbard and enchantment, the blades just still ended up burning them, melting it completely.

Using the spear as a walking stick, he searched through the box that carried his special backpack. Picking the enchanted bag, he started gearing up. Food, bedrolls (thank the gods he prepared for the worst), his light armor set, few potions, alchemical ingredients, his unharmed alchemy apparatus (thank you, Divines!) and all the shenanigans he needed to transverse Skyrim's wild lands. _Malacath's toenails…_ his thought grumbled about that with resignation.

Another adventure, he thought drily as he came to a stop. The gold glints of the Dwemer gauntlet winked back at him from where it laid, surrounded by sundered woods. Pushing the wreckage, he picked it up, immediately slipping his right arm into it before picking up the hammer it laid right beside.

No wonder he felt so tired… his head was still throbbing thickly, his vision slightly wobbly. The cold air seemed heavy against his skin. He blamed it on the hammer. He should have realized it when he woke up. He'd been clutching that thing as if it was a matter of life or death.

Staring at it, he made his decision. The hammer immediately went into his bag. The gauntlet followed after.

Tightening the leather belt of his bag, he hefted it up, slipping his arms through the leather straps before tightening it again. The Feather spells does amazing thing when enchanted and he was thankful for this foresight.

A crunch, he immediately spun around only to stare at the blackest, darkest, meanest horse he'd ever seen. Looking up, he saw a hooded Imperial mage was grinning at him from behind. One red and one green eyes twinkled beneath those mage's hood. Oh… _him_.

The mage looked worn what with his clothes a bit frayed on the edge. There were dark circle around his strange eyes and he looked like lost of lot of weight. Despite the hardship the mage went through, Sul still had the energy to grin like a manic.

"So you'd survive!" Sul announced happily. "That's good, really good!" He grinned and slid down from his horse then looked behind him. "And looks like our stuff too! Wonderful!"

Vaden immediately dodged when the mage literally flung himself into the wreckage, opening the chests that wasn't his.

"You're awfully happy," the Dunmer commented curtly.

"I should be since I survive an encounter from two dragons! And Skyrim's crazy wilderness!" Sul added as his ransacked negligently through the chests, throwing the contents behind as he did that. "They were thankfully trying to rip each other's throat."

"The dragons or Skyrim?"

"Yes, the dragons"

Vaden frowned in disbelief. "They're myth."

"Got your head knocked up hard, eh son?" Sul said as he briefly looked up and smiled at him. "What do you think happen to Helgen, hm?" he gestured at the surrounding.

The dark elf stared all around him. He was still lucid a bit from his wake up call so he stared, and stared at the snow-blanketed stumps and charred rocks that lined rectangles—the only remains of the houses around here. His mind started to whirl like Dwemers gear clicking in place. The black dragon… holy Boethia's gobshite.

This is Helgen. He was standing on Helgen. This ruins, he stared at it and noticed steams rising off the ruins, lingers of burning embers beneath those layers of snows.

Vaden groaned, "So it wasn't an awful dream."

"I've search the whole night and morning," Sul said as he searched while making a ruckus. "Around these areas. Looking for _you_ or signs of you. I knew a mer like you won't easily get your head bite off by some lizard. And I was right!" Sul grinned. "Ooh, found it!"

Vaden turned around and stepped away when Sul brought the huge saddlebags while dragging a leather saddle behind him by the straps. The mage immediately saddled his… quite tall, huge horse now that Vaden had sized it. Technically, it was one of his team of horses. The one Sul offered as a replacement for the fourth horse.

Skyrim's hardy breeds are after all, really hard to get outside their homeland. But this huge horse… Vaden thought silently as its inhuman red eyes gazed deeply into him… was no Skyrim's breed.

Sul walked past him, dragging a chest and opening it to reveal staffs… lots and lots of soul gems? All of them are purple, and they were rare whites, blues and reds. Why in Oblivion is he storing tomatoes with his gems?

"You're a hoarder," Vaden said accusingly. "A kleptomaniac. You've got a problem."

"Me?" Sul looked up at him in disbelief. "Nah," he brushed it off and walked past him.

Vaden watched the mage stocked up the saddles bag. He noticed incredulously the horse was bearing a lot. Potions, foods, bedrolls, clothes, amulets and all the stuff. It didn't complain. He started to think the horse was one of the mage's conjuration. Undead conjuration.

With a grunt of effort, Sul pulled one last box that had a big diamond shaped impression on its wooden top. His hand briefly glowed as it touched the dark almost-charred wood. A click and the chest unlocked.

Flipping the top open, Sul dug in then brought a set of silver-white armor, sword, a diamond-red shield and mace. The light coming off its material was odd, not matching with the natural light around it. Its metal glistening almost ethereally, like it was reflecting lights from the brightest stars. Star-made armor… star-made..., Vaden frowned, trying to remember something.

Sul just walked past him again, this time with a nasty black claymore on his back and an ornate blue jewel tip glinted at his belt. It was the pommel of some strange one-handed sword. Sul's a battlemage then, Vaden stored this information away.

Once packed, Sul pulled himself up onto the saddle then the mage noted something.

"Oh, you have no horse," Sul said, noting the critical factor that will slow him down. Figures.

With resignation and spear in his clutch, Vaden just floated up and drifted away from the wreckage. All those items he will be leaving. So much profit lost… he's going to be fired… well how about they assumed him dead. Yes, dead. Vaden thought quietly as he drifted past the ruins… steaming slightly.

"How are you doing that?" Sul asked behind him.

Vaden turned his head slightly and noticed the black horse was following beside him easefully.

"Levitation spells. I enchanted it into my robe," the Dunmer replied. "It cost a lot of soul gem for it to be forever charged."

"Really. I heard of those but it was banned in Cyrodiil. And I thought it only takes one type of soul gems to cast the enchantment," the Imperial mage commented.

"Then they must be teaching you wrong," the Dunmer replied flatly.

"Huh, funny about that," the mage muttered quietly then remained silent.

The Dunmer was grateful for that. He liked the quietness.

"Say…" the mage pursed loudly.

The Dunmer frowned crossly. With the headache, and the situation they were in. He was not in a happy mood at all. And this mage has the galls to be happy.

"There was a trail leading away from your wagon," the mage commented.

"Oh," Vaden replied nonchalantly, still disgruntled from waking up in the cold.

"Because I was wandering, the canvas blanket we had for the wagon's cover. Can it survive a dragon's breath?"

The Dunmer frowned. Assuming that… thing's breath is purely magical and not elemental, "Maybe," he answered doubtfully.

"Because I swear, I spotted one of the natives here wearing one."

The Dunmer stopped and turned around very slowly. "Can you say that again?" he said to the mage on the black horse.

"I spotted one of the natives wearing one," Sul repeated hesitatingly.

"So you're saying. Someone walked off wearing the enchanted canvas of our wagon," the Dunmer said incredulously.

"Yes," the mage answered simply then smiled in triumph. "And I think we should investigate it."

"No," the Dunmer replied flatly. "No, just no."

"She happens to be blonde and butt naked. Why else would she wear a canvas," the mage added slyly.

Notorious werewolves happen to be butt naked when they're not a wolf. And Vaden had encountered those plenty once in his life time. They're always bad news. Solstheim were thick of them and he was sure Skyrim would also be.

"So?" Vaden clipped.

"And a blizzard is coming."

The Dunmer looked up and sure thing. There's an angry ugly storm in the horizon and it was coming fast. Skyrim's weather… the Dunmer snorted in disgust. Winter time, the coldest, chilliest time in Skyrim but the most safest as the Imperials and Stormcloaks are literally forced in a cold war. No open war would go on… at the moment.

"You spotted her in a bare landscape or in the surrounding forest?" Vaden asked.

"Forest."

"She's fine then," Vaden brushed off.

"She's skinny as a stick and I think she's suffering hypothermia."

"A Nord, suffering from the cold?" the mer scoffed.

"When ones stomach is empty and have been getting barely any source of warmth, everyone would be suffering from the cold."

The mer sighed. "What are you proposing," he said in resignation.

"Why, my dear companion," the mage uttered patronizingly. "I thought you didn't care at all!"

"I find your manners childish and wasting my time right now. So would you kindly just get to the point, _please_," Vaden snapped, his frustration spiking through his calm visage.

Sul burst into laughter. "As for your question, the answer is simple. Help her, of course."

* * *

"So where is she?" Vaden said drily as they stood before the thicker parts of the forest

The trees left uncut, undisturbed through the centuries stood bigger, taller and much closer to each other. With the greeneries thicker above them, the ground was sparse of snows.

"Use your wolfy sense mister," Sul retorted.

The dark elf stared back at him darkly.

"You think I don't know anything about that ring you're wearing, especially Hircine's ring," the mage smiled smugly when he glanced at the silver wolf of his ring. "I won't tell of course," Sul added in that cheerful lighthearted manner of his. "Your secret is safe."

"I have no secret," Vaden retorted. "I'm no werewolf. I was once, but no longer. The ring just makes the wearer capable to be one while in control."

Sul just shrugged and cast a spell. A Life Detect one. Vaden wasn't sure if the mage knew about his other ring, the one with the crescent moon and star. He was glad he wasn't wearing it. Instead, it dangled by his chest, held by a chain and hidden beneath the layers of clothes.

Vaden breathed the air deeply and opened his mouth to taste it. The forest pine and the icy breath filled his throat.

Being a werewolf once and for such a long time too, had left side effects. Though his senses weren't as sharp as a wolf, they were still heightened above average. Just a bit.

He still has that urged to hunt at night, hence his wakefulness when darkness arrive. Of course, he could use the ring's power. A wee bit, enough to heighten his senses more, but then that would wake the wolf inside it.

"I'm not seeing anything," Sul said, puzzled in the background.

"Deeper then," Vaden said and without a word strode into the forest. "Plus I think this is a perfect spot to wait out the blizzard," he added, approving the enclosing thick trees around them.

* * *

The fire sparked and crackled while the wind howled in the distant. Sul stared at the flames of their camp fire.

_The white drake slammed against the black dragon. It roared but its shout quickly cut off when the black dragon clamped its sharp teeth around its throat. The white struggled and squirmed as the black crushed. With all its strength, it pulled back with the black dragon from its perch on the wall._

_Both slammed to the ground, crushing a burning house. They disappeared within its fierce fire._

_Dragon shouts crackled, a black mace-like tail whipped at the heated air and slashed the surroundings, smashing the remains of the house into splinters, but intended for the white dragon rolling back up. It hit straight at the face when it finally looked up, slamming hard the scales and bones cracked. Weakened incredibly, it hunched before the huge black dragon and growled deeply._

_ "__**Krilot nuz Sahliis**__." A deep voice boomed from the black dragon._

_With that, it blasted fire onto the weak drake._

_The dragon screamed and unraveled into ethereal light. Only the black dragon roared in outrage, in disbelief. A roar that all beast that walked on Tamriel would understand. Its prey had escape._

Sul blinked back into the present. The God of Necromancer's mortal anchor, Mannimarco, had whispered to him and was still whispering. Dragon are rumored to be able to shape shift, some of the ancient still hiding had learn to hide amongst mortal. It was possible, possible.

"Traven, shut him up!" Sul snapped at his saddlebag where he knew his colossal black soul gem slept.

The whispering was immediately cut off with the sound of angry protesting.

Sul just shook his head and a sigh escaped from his mouth in a form of white mist.

"Why have you come back?" a hollow voice asked.

"By accident, actually," the mage answered neutrally to the voice.

"You left the Mage's Guild," the voice said sadly.

"I'd led it, yes. As best as I could but I had to leave and I cannot undo your mistakes," Sul answered the voice, his face emotionless. "I am after all, as a prophet once said, an embodiment of a legend. Always wandering, conquering, ruled for a while then leaving entirely. Renewing myself into a new man at each leaving," Sul said softly.

"Fox should be your name."

Sul sniffed in amusement, "one of my names I earned has the word fox in it. And Traven, I've been dying to say this. You're a hypocrite," the battlemage grinned at his rucksack. "Using one of Mannimarco's plans, necromancy against himself."

"It was the only way. Only for a short time you were to handle the gem but I guess now…"

"It's a bit harder to pull a soul into a gem when it has a realm tied to it," Sul said with a slight smile on his lips again.

A rustled and a crunch of feet on snow, the mage looked up in time to see the Dunmer emerging into the campfire's light.

Vaden slumped down on the hard ground, his face disgruntled as he searched through his bags.

"So?" Sul said slowly.

"Found tracks, found the girl. She's like a Bosmer," the Dunmer said in disgust when he finally pulled out a bottle of brandy.

"It's probably because she lives in the wilds," Sul pointed out drily.

"Tried to catch her but she went up the trees, jumping from branch to branch, trees to trees like some squirrel," the Dunmer growled. "I swear, she's a gods damned Bosmer in a Nords body."

"She's missing the feral attitude," Sul interjected.

"Then explain why she almost knock my teeth out when I caught her," Vaden said sourly then rubbed his mouth sorely. "And how the hell does one survive in Skyrim's wilderness!" the Dunmer snapped. "I say we just leave her alone since she clearly wants to be," Vaden rolled his eyes.

Sul remained quiet. "The blizzard will get her," he said with a definite tone.

"No _I'll_ get her," Vaden said under his breath with narrowed red eyes.

"Careful, Vaden. You're showing that wolf side of you," Sul grinned.

"It's not for the thrill of the hunt," the Dunmer shook his head briefly.

"Pride?"

"No," Vaden disagreed. "She was wearing an Akatosh's chantry medallion around her neck." He traced a diamond outline on his neck as if the medallion was there.

Sul raised an eyebrow. "And what of it?"

Vaden shot him a look. "She's nearby, starving and we have food here," he added quietly.

The mage smirked. "Hircine wouldn't favor you for no reason."

"Don't remind me!" the mer snapped.

* * *

The blizzard howled outside but tent's insides remained warm, enchanted to keep the freezing cold and wind from entering. The two travelers slept in the corner, beneath the blanket of their fur cloak.

A quiet footstep crunched near the outside entrance of the tent and a pair of eye opened in the dark corner of the tent. One blue and one orange fox eyes gleamed in the dark. Sul blinked again and the blue deepened into a green as the orange into red. He looked across him where his companion's fur cloak covered a dummy made of spare clothes.

The mer had explained it that an animal can smell if it was just clothes or a person underneath this blanket. So Vaden had used his dirty clothes to make it seem he was beneath those fur.

There was a soft sniff beneath the muffled howl of blizzard. Sul kept himself still and closed his eyes. A sharp yowl and a high-pitch yelp yelled out all of a sudden. There was a sound of scuffles struggling in the background then with a sharp _oof_ and a grunt, it stopped.

The entrance tent flaps suddenly pulled open and a pale shadow walked in with a heavy bundle on the shoulder. Sul got up easefully in the dark and breathed a spell. An orange magelight appeared from his fingers, emanating not just light but warmth.

He looked at the other side of the tent and saw Vaden crouched down, placing a gangly body laid down. Getting up, he went over and hunched over the unconscious body with the mer. They looked at each other before staring down on the creature. So bony beneath the ragged clothes of what could be a potato sack. Sul noted their caravan's enchanted cover had become a collection of the layers of clothes with a strip tied around her waist to hold it.

"She's really skinny, poor girl," Sul muttered this.

"Poor girl, my ass," Vaden said sourly. "She almost punched me in the guts." The mer suddenly crouched closer to the girl and brushed her dirty hair aside.

"What are you doing?" the mage frowned at this sudden reaction.

"Checking her ears," the mer retorted and huff in disappointment. They weren't pointy ears at all. He really wanted to prove his point.

* * *

Warmth. The gentle warmth that accompanied with the caressing softness against her skin. Instead of being lulled by this, her blue eyes cracked open and immediately tried to flung the feeling away. It was _too_ alien, too different from the harshness of the cold and hard barks of trees. That's how she had kept herself safe, sleeping in the trees for predators and trolls can't climb.

She shot up from where she laid, immediately head butting a predator that had been haunch over her.

There was a snarly swearing spouted from the predator. Not wasting time, she rolled away from the predator and jumped up into a sprint.

Sul saw this as he covered his bleeding nose and immediately pointed his fingers. A paralyze spell zapped out and hit squarely on the girl's back just as she almost disappeared behind a tree. The girl stiffly fell down hard onto the snow.

Swearing under his breath, Sul went over to the girl while clutching his broken nose. With both his arms, he pulled her up from the ground and dragged her back into the tent.

"The nerve these mortals have," he muttered sourly. She'd been very docile when she slept right through two days of blizzard. And now that she's waking up, he knew she's going to be a whole lot trouble than she's worth. He's starting to regret his suggestion to Vaden.

* * *

The next time she woke, she froze when she noticed two predators glaring down on her.

"So you woke up," one said with moons as his eyes, giving him mismatched pair of iris. "And not kicking and punching like you usually do," the predator added drily.

"Do you understand us?" the other whose skin was bluish grey while his eyes were red like one of the moons

She remained frozen, not daring to move until the mismatched eyes snapped his fingers in front of her face. She scrunched her face.

"Do you understand us?" the mismatched eyes repeated slowly as if he was speaking to some dumb animal. "Nod if yes," Mismatched's head shook vertically, "or shake if no," this time he shook horizontally.

She nodded very slowly, cautious.

"Name?" the red eyes demanded.

_Name?_ She frowned. She had no name. Well none that she knew so she shook her head, still watching then eyed over their shoulder where the exit is. But her sight is met with a flaming familiar… an _atronach_, a whisper from deep recess of her mind told her. It was guarding the entrance.

They trapped her, unless she was willing to fling herself against the tent's wall, which is more trouble than it was worth.

One of them suddenly moved his arms and she cringed back. Mismatched just raised his hands, as if to show they were bare. But she knew, those fingers can still hurt her.

"The medallion," the other said when Mismatched slowly reached and pointed at her chest.

"Dragon curled into a diamond, the symbol of Dragon-born emperor or more appropriately, the Temple of One, Akatosh's chantry," Mismatched said and narrowed his strange eyes on her. "Seeing myth come alive reminds me one of the Blade's superstitions."

"How old are this rumors."

"As old as an old wives tale."

"And you're speculating from this?"

"Better start somewhere."

"Oh. Please elaborate," red eyes said drily.

"Akatosh's chantries are rumored to house dragons, particularly those in High Rock. Some say when being near their temples, you could hear the chants and hyms joined by some great voice, singing praise to the great Dragon of Time," Mismatched told the other.

"Why would dragons, creatures of great legends, would need protection of the chantry?"

"Don't know," Mismatched shrugged his shoulder. "It is said that the few dragons that still remained were seeking refuge from those who would harm them. The Blades especially. Some even made deals with emperor like how mercenary makes deal with their employer."

"Hmmm, what would make her?" red eyes stared at her. They weren't kind eyes nor they were cruel eyes, but they had the intensity that said she was prey if she so dared to move.

"Ex-priest runaway."

A disapproving frown was Mismatched's reply.

"Oh, there's a much crazier one! I think she's a dragon who shape shifted herself into a mortal," Mismatched grinned.

Their captive listener though kept quiet, her blue eyes betrayed nothing at all as speculation tossed back and forth.

"We still need to know her name?"

Mismatched hummed then smiled, "just call her kitten."

"Kitten?" Red eyes stared at him, incredulous.

"Yes, kitten." Mismatched nodded in affirmative then looked at her, "You heard that? I dubbed thee kitten," he said cheerfully.

She had nothing to say about that, but then she can't say anything.

* * *

"You mock me," a rumbly voice muttered.

"I mock everyone, you're no different."

* * *

**Fucking mistakes. AARRRGH!**

**7/5/13: So many mistakes, so many damn mistakes. And no one said anything, at all? Yes, that's right. I'm staring at YOU! Well these words are staring at you. But you get what I mean.**


	3. The Gods are Drunk

**I've been holding onto this for a long time. So I might as well give you this chapter. *sigh* Still not deep into the plots yet.**

* * *

Vaden grunted as he hefted the pack, feeling the weight of the dead deer heavily on his back. It was a good thing he was hunting. Because when Sul hunts, he only ended up bringing charred-to-the-bone deer. The Dunmer rolled his eyes when he remembered that one-time a mage _hunts_.

He huffed, leaving a puff of white mist, glistening gold under the rare afternoon sunlight. Tracking through the thick knee-deep snow amidst the tall pine trees, Vaden slowly made way to camp.

By the time he reached it, the sun had disappeared and the sky was covered with heavy grey clouds. It was going to snow again tonight and supplies are running low. Animals are getting scarce; he thought grimly then dropped the heavy sack onto the camp's clearing.

He looked up to see Sul slapping the young girl's hand.

"No," the mage snapped. "You will use the spoon when you eat," he told her, quite adamant.

The girl glared, her striking blue eyes hardly budging at Vaden's arrival. The two were seated on the ground, by the fire with a pot of stew cooking above it. The girl was cloaked with a newly made deer hide. She was clean, her face without muck and her blonde hair washed and comb thoroughly. Even her nails were picked clean. Courtesy to Sul's paranoia on tics and torture on the poor girl.

Vaden had swore the girl had screamed all the games away during the "clean up". It was a gods damn miracle the mage managed to clean her. Sul had smugly said something how a mage "always improvise". Somehow, he made it sound… inappropriate. Vaden shook his head at the thought.

Now she was close for his silent examine, Vaden assumed she was around nineteen. She was definitely that same prisoner who was to be executed at Helgen. He wondered how she survived the attack?

"Glare at me all you want. Think all you want. But you will be civilize at least," Sul's voiced ominously with narrowed eyes.

"Why am I indulging this?" Vaden sighed out loud. "We should leave the girl."

"But you found her," Sul replied quickly.

"I found her because I took pity," Vaden replied as he opened the pack. _And there's not much of it for me to give_. "And I don't understand why you're not letting her running away. She's fine now."

"But I work hard on her," Sul whined, his mismatched eyes looking at the mer imploringly.

"Don't look at me like that," Vaden grumbled under his breath as he pulled out the raw meat. "What good is she anyway, and because of her, we're forced to sacrifice our supplies."

"At least drop her off onto civilization," the mage said.

Vaden huffed and paused. "Fine," he snapped, "but she will slow us down, and if things get too rough, I _will_ abandon the two of you if I have to."

"I understand perfectly. I already made arrangement on that," Sul said in that cheerful annoying tone of his. "Mere is going to carry her," the mage declared and the black horse snorted in the background.

"How about you?"

"I'm going to cast an enchantment, a levitation spell on my cloak," Sul announced. "Actually, I'm just going to experiment on enchanting," the mage added thoughtfully.

Vaden looked up from his sliced meat, "You do know levitation can only go as fast as your current speed unless you have a really strong fortifying enchantment," the mer told the mage.

"No, actually I didn't know."

Vaden wanted to facepalm on that moment, but his hand was bloody from cutting up the raw meat. He didn't want to make a mess out of his face.

"How many soul gems do you have?" Vaden demanded after a moment.

"Uh, heaps?"

"How many, Sul?" Vaden snapped. "And what quality."

"A bagful and all grand. I also have my own cultivated Welkynd Stone," Sul told him, unperturbed at the mer's impatient.

"I guess it'll do," Vaden said quietly more to himself, "But I still think it's not enough for the constant effect."

"Can't you use a Welkynd Stone?" the mage asked. "They're much powerful than a grand _and_ a black soul gem."

"I don't know how to use them," Vaden shook his head at the suggestion. "And this is the first time I come across them, actually I didn't even know you can cultivate them," the elf said and shrugged.

"Well I'm going to try, and without an altar too," Sul added brightly even though it was much harder to enchant without the medium. "It'll fill up the boringness around here," the mage said and motioned the dull quiet forest around them.

"Be glad there are no wild sabre cats coming out to eat us," Vaden snapped then noticed something. "Where's the girl?" he pointed out the empty space beside Sul.

"Of for gods sake," the mage rolled his eyes and got off his seat then walked off into a now dark forest.

Vaden smirked, liking the mage's sudden irk. For once, silence sat heavily except for the sound of fire crackling and the soft thump of the black horse's hooves.

A few minutes later, the mage came back into the camp, swearing under his breath with a heavy bundle over his shoulder.

"Where she hit you this time?" Vaden asked and grinned wickedly.

The mage glared. His red eye seeming to glow angrily than the blue's in the campfire's light. "Let's just say it was a very sensitive spot," the mage said with a hoarse voice.

* * *

"You're going to behave, understand?" Mismatch growled softly down at her from his place on the horse's back.

She said nothing, glaring at the offered leather gloved hand in front of her.

"I thought you said she will have the horse," she heard his companion said from somewhere behind her.

"Change of plan, I don't trust her enough to let her out of my sight," Mismatch replied briskly, eyes still on her. "Quit it!" he snapped as if knowing what she was thinking.

She looked up sharply, the morning glare above him forcing her eyes to narrow. The air around the mage crackled heavily as he glared down at her, responding to her challenge.

A moment of staring, she looked back down on the gloved hand and grabbed it sullenly. Immediately, he pulled her up, hand grabbing onto her waist before slipping past them from the leather reins. The horse neigh a complaint from beneath them.

"I'm sorry, Mere. But you're strong, right?" Mismatch said from behind her, his warm breath brushing onto the back of her neck. It was very irritating and she did not like the feeling, at all. The girl narrowed her eyes at this. She could… elbow him to the stomach. "And it's not like you feel anything," the mage continued.

The horse turned its head slightly to the side, its red eyes glaring up at its passenger.

"Okay you feel something," Mismatch added quickly. "But it's not going to stop you, won't it?' the mage added slyly.

A snort came and the horse faced the front again. It thumped the ground with its hooves then it move. She could feel the slight rise and fall of its shoulder as the horse walk slowly forward.

"I still don't think it will do her a favor introducing society," Mismatch's companion commented as he drifted by beside them, easefully floating above the icy cobble path. "At this pace, it'll take us two days to reach Whiterun. If we're lucky enough, we'll reach Riverwood by tonight then continue on our journey from there."

"Sounds like a plan," Mismatch said.

Whiterun? Riverwood? Those are cities… large place where lots of house… people, people, she fidgeted at the thought. She never had good experience with them. She did not like this. She did not like this at all.

"Kitten, stop fidgeting or do you want me to paralyze you again."

She froze at the soft growl and slumped in her seat.

* * *

The monotonous trot of hooves clopped on the icy ground. She blinked her eyes rapidly as the horse movement made rise and fall beneath her. It was already late in the afternoon, judging from how bright the clouds are in the sky.

"We'll stop ahead," the dark elf said loudly, drifting easefully beside the horse-trotting pace. "That looks like a good spot to rest," he pointed at clearing with what looked like carved ancient stones standing there, waiting when they slowed to a stop by it.

She felt the warm presence behind her back move away and slid down the horse. With a soft grunt, she moved her numb legs, feeling more like those stones standing around them. She slid ungracefully down from the horse's back, onto the uneven ground. More bad-tempered, she gave a tiny hiss as she moved her aching thighs and forced them to walk.

"This is interesting," she heard Mismatch commented to his companion. "A Doomstone."

"The ancient stone?"

"Yes, reminds me of the Birthsign Stones littered around Cyrodiil, except they're differently design," Mismatch said as she walked over to one of the nearest ancient stone. "They don't use runes inscription, instead these are carvings of Tamriel's constellation."

"Fascinating," the mer's voice dripped with boredom.

"Oh don't use that voice on me, Vaden. You don't know what you're standing in front of," Mismatch clipped. "If I'm correct, and they work exactly like the Birthsign stone, only one Stone at a time grants power to its receiver."

"What exactly do they do, again?"

"Grant powers of the constellation they represent."

"Meaning additional power of the constellation, and it wouldn't matter if you weren't birth under its sign?"

"Yes."

"No requirements?"

"Well… it says that only the "chosen one" can use them. It's not like Heaven Stones, which you have to be worthy for them. And don't get me started with Rune Stones."

"I take it you are experienced with these?"

"There is one Birthsign Stone activated in Cyrodiil for me," Mismatch told him. "I still have its power. Don't you have these in Morrowind back then?"

"No."

"Hmm, perhaps these stones are Mannish origins," Mismatch muttered softly. "Or some leftover from the Dawn Era. I wonder… would it cancel the stone back in Cyrodiil if I activated this one."

"How do you activate them?"

"Simply touching it," Mismatch answered.

It was at that time, after a moment of pacing back and forth, that she sighed at her now loosen muscles and leaned against one of the Stone. A soft hum immediately waxed from it. It was more felt as she could feel travelling up her body, buzzing her throat, singing into her mind. Her sight dull and darken as a swirl of light, mostly red, begin to shine.

It was beautiful… a cloud of clustering stars, shining to make a picture of a… warrior looking down on her. They were the stars that watched her in her dreams.

A finger snapped in front of her and she look up at a pair of mismatch eyes.

"Kitten, are you all right?" a genuine concern came from Mismatch as he was crouched before her. "You started to hum strange music just then," he told her. "Rustic, but lovely. It has charm," he commented absentmindedly.

The dark elf made a sound of throat clearing, reminding him.

"Perhaps you're feeling light headed." Mismatch pursed thoughtfully aloud. "Have some drink," he reach around his waist—there was a sharp whistle and something slammed into the man in front of her.

* * *

Sul fell backward and landed hard on his back against the cold ground. He snarled immediately in pain at the arrow embedded into his shoulder.

"Bandits!" Vaden yelled.

Sul paid no mind when the mer zip up to the sky after snatching a bow from his pack. He knew the mer was a quick bird, knowing those enchantments what made the mer's levitation fast.

The mage grabbed the arrow in shoulder and pulled it off sharply, gritting his teeth as he grunted roughly at the pain. With a quick roll, he ducked for cover, behind one of the Ancient Stones.

"Gonna rip you up!" Sul heard one of the bandits snarled.

The girl! The mage pulled out from behind his cover, only to see Kitten jumping away from the heavy swept of an axe maniac. She skipped back swiftly like a deer then lunged forward as if a feral sabre cat, tackling the guy to the ground before beating him bloody to the face with her fist. Sul saw another bandit running up to her.

"Kitten, duck!" he barked.

Having experience the spells flying from the mage's fingers, she immediately launch herself out of the way.

Sul shot a blast of thunderbolt, and blue lightning sizzled and slammed into Nord bandit. It threw the bandit off few feet away. Another few blast and the bandit disintegrate.

Up in the sky, Vaden easily dodged the arrows shot up to him. He saw one of the archers in the bushes paused for reloading and he immediately reacted, drawing on his arrows and shooting with precision as he sniped each into their head. Another whistled from his left, and he zip to his right, feeling the air shifted as the arrow wheezed by.

It was out in the open being up here, but it was a quick way to find the archers from the vantage point it was giving him. Plus, he was the faster marksman compare to the bandits. It was then he activated another enchantment on him, he went invisible.

As Vaden sniped the archers dead, Sul was blasting off another ambusher. Three more charge out of the bushes, rushing toward him and getting far too close for his liking. The mage pulled out his sword and grinned manically when he blocked the Khajiit's blade. He headbutted the Khajiit and slashed the cat's throat.

"Who wants to feed my blade!" Sul yelled as his blade drank the warm blood. He pulled his blade out and Dawnfang glinted hungrily under the cold light of Skyrim's sky. "It would be better if there are more than twelve of you. My blade is hungry," he gave a toothy grin.

"Keep him still enough!" barked a bandit from Sul's left.

* * *

She saw one of the predators barked something as the one behind Mismatch, approached towards him with a mace raised high. She opened her mouth, but the mage surprised her when he slipped out of the mace's range.

"Too slow," Mismatch cackled as the mace swipe into empty air. "And so loud," the mage lamented.

Before the mace wielder could raise his weapon back up, the mage spun back and thrust his sword arm. Blade immediately surged into the neck, cracking the bones within when it cleanly stabbed through. Mismatch pulled it out quickly and twirled back to meet against a shield wielder.

The sound of metal against metal ring the air as the mage's fang glanced off the iron shield, but left a dent that looks like the blade had gnawed on it. His other free hand glowed and lightning spout out, ramming into the shield and sending the bandit skidding back across the snow-covered ground.

The mage gave a wolfish grin while the two circle around the clearings. Her skin crawled as she cringed at the face he made.

The two warriors moved and the sound of metal rang. Sounds of feet skidding across the icy ground greeted her ears. The shield wielder managed to bash the mage back and lunged forward onto the imbalance mage. Mismatch rolled to the side and spun, blade thrust up.

Sound of metal clattered heavily onto the ground, the shield dropped from the dead hand. Mismatch thrust the sword deeper up the rib then pulled it out sharply with a spatter of blood on his clothes. A heavy thump, the body had dropped onto the ground by his feet.

She stared at the mage who was scanning the area slowly, eyes hard like an eagle before they stopped on her. She hesitated then saw his face fell. The mage sighed.

"There's no one left now, you can come out."

From the bush, she stood up straight, having been crouching behind them. Her feet moved forward then stopped. The mage watched when she stared at her feet. A moment pass, a decision made, and she walked forward towards him with a heavy heart. She wasn't stupid. She can't outrun, she can't hide, she can't escape. If she is to escape, it'll be when an opportunity opens up and in her favor.

* * *

She dreamed the place where stars watched and ancient stones scattered amongst the tall grass, the edge of her sight fading into the watery darkness of the horizon. Here, she walked silently as the star watched her.

"You have to trust them."

She looked up, noticing the mortal sitting on top of a stone with the Serpent diagram carved into its surface. The Imperial smiled at her softly, his brilliant blue eyes like the deep azure lake. He frowned when he noticed her look.

"No, I can't do that," he shook his head and stared at his hands before looking back up. "I chose you. As much as Talos disapprove, I don't want another Hjalti walking Tamriel, even if Tamriel needs another conqueror in our name. But then…" he added softly, "all of us just ended up being like him in some way or not," he said and smiled wryly at his thoughts. "But you'll be different," he stared at her expectantly.

She crinkled her nose and looked away.

"I know why you avoid the mortals. Something can't be help. It wasn't your fault," he told her gently as she recalled the burning fire of Helgen, and of the past. "And you're wondering why a mortal's god is talking to you," he laughed softly then stopped.

Silence between the two. "Know this, you cannot defeat the worm as a dragon alone," he told her sadly.

No answer came from her lips. She only remain aloof and kept staring at the stones spread amongst the grassland.

"I see," the Imperial said sadly. "I've could have done it to others, but I know only you could survive the change. The others would be… driven mad," he finished softly but looked up brightly. "Many had in the beginning," he said softly and grinned, "Who do you think Ysgramor was?"

Ys…gra…mor? Ys..gra…moro? Yah..grah…morah? Seek, Battle, Glory/Focus? She looked up and stared curiously at the Imperial.

"You might be surprise what mortals can do," the Imperial smiled as his eyes turned gold like a dragon. His voice changed and deepened into a rumble. "After all I was one before I become I," the Imperial gave her a toothy grin. "Go with Akatosh," the Imperial said softly as he began to glow gold. "And send my regard to my old friend."

He burst into white fire and she covered her eyes when the large dragon grew from the light.

* * *

She woke up with a start just as the horse jerked to a stop. It was dark and quiet except for the cold gentle breeze passing by and the nearby river's gushing.

"Riverwood," she heard Mismatch's companion said as they stop by beneath the wooden sturdy outpost.

The road went on, straight through the village, passing the houses. Warm light shone through the houses shuttered windows. No one was out about beneath the dark cloudy night sky.

She stirred in her seat and immediately slid down from the horse's back, landing onto the ground with a stumble, her muscles aching from the hours of riding. Without looking, she waited for her persistent companions and heard the steps of the annoying one landing down behind her.

"There's an inn, up ahead," the annoying one's companion pointed ahead of them.

"Let's go then."

A clopping of hooves passed by her as the annoying, and the annoying's horse and companion walked past her. She stayed behind and turned to glance over her shoulder, at Skyrim's wilderness.

"Kitten, are you coming or not?" the ominous voice called out ahead of her.

Her shoulder slumped and she breathed in deeply before following them, reluctantly. They went up the wooden steps only the annoying stayed behind to take care of his scary horse of his. So she ended up tailing behind the dark elf closely.

The door creaked as they enter the inn with warm air immediately sweeping over them with the smell of food roasting.

"Orgnar, there are customers here," a woman's voice called out.

"This late?"

She didn't pay attention when the elf begins to speak, and instead examined her surrounding, frowning at the wooden benches and tables by the side. There was a fireplace in the middle of the room, roasting a pheasant.

"That will be ten septim for a room."

"Fair enough," the elf replied, "this will include with meals?"

"Yes."

The door swept opened before closing again. The annoying walked in with saddlebags on his shoulder and in his hands. He looked appraisingly at his surroundings before standing beside them.

"Do you happen to have a bath house?" annoying asked.

"Sorry, the only wash you get around here is from the river out there," said a humored woman's voice.

"Figures," annoying muttered sourly. "I'll wait till Whiterun then," he sighed. "Got the rooms?" he asked the elf.

"Yes, you get the one on the right, near the exit," the elf told him and walked past them.

"Wonderful, you knew exactly which room I want," annoying grinned then looked at her much to her chagrin. "How about her?" he nudge his chin at her direction.

The elf paused and looked at her as well. "She gets her own room."

"You just want her to run away, don't you?" annoying said disapprovingly.

"It'll make life easier," the elf answered shortly before shutting the door after him.

Annoying stared at the shut door for a while before looking at her. "He doesn't like you, Kitten," he said the obvious with twinkling eyes. "But then he's a Dunmer. They are a grumpy bunch," he added before walking off to his room. "Your room is that one," he pointed at the door between his room at the elf's. "And don't think of _trying_," he added just as he entered his room.

She sighed and went to the room rented for her. Walking in, she shut the door them slid down against it, pooling onto the floor. Ages living in the wilderness, almost assimilated with it, and here she was, with shoes on and beneath a sturdy roof. She frowned when she remembered shoes and immediately untied her fur-lined boots and threw it on the other side of her room.

* * *

"What do you want me to do, Martin?" a familiar voice said accusingly.

She found herself resting against the ancient stone scattered over the dreamscape as the voices discuss.

"Jump over the moons? Eat cranberries—a strawberry tart would be nice if I'm going to," the familiar voice continued. "But I can't say, hey, you're going to be proficient in killing dragons. She doesn't have skills, no talent, no experience at all! No experience in swinging swords!"

"She almost knocked you out," a deep voice rumbled back.

"Okay, she has skill and she does it dirty, she's also strong," the other voice corrected. "But is it enough to defeat god? A god, Martin, your mirror brother? His existence predates this current Kalpa."

Silence. "No, but the others still ended up fine."

"That's because they were mortal first before their dragon head fully reared up. She's a dragon first before a mortal. She's a dragon walking the path of mortal. She's a befuddled dragon, Martin. She's a _Nord_."

"That's why I brought you here."

"Martin, you're asking a Daedric Prince here."

"I know."

There was a quiet muttering. "I have to go to Riften then."

"Why?"

"I'm going to cheat, and who's the best when it comes to cheating? Besides me, of course."

"Azura or …Nocturnal," the other voice breathed this more.

"I need her key. I just need to get her key, toy with—"

"You're going to experiment on _her_?" the rumbling voice said accusingly. "Are you craz—no, no. I'm not going to question your sanity again. The last time I did, I had to wrench Umbra from your unconscious hand. And knowing who you are _now_…"

"I still haven't forgiven you for _that_."

"You went nuts, Theo! You lust for blood. The Blades were disturbed by how you treat that sword. And even after I made you give it back, you _changed_. And you want to inflict that kind of effect on her, on a _dov_?"

"We're talking about the Skeleton Key, here, Martin," the voice deadpanned. "It won't be like that, and I won't overdo it. We need a warrior, and a warrior she's going to be."

"Is this the best plan you can come up with, fine," the voice rumbled with a sigh.

"You trust me, right?"

"…yes," the deep voice answered hesitatingly.

"Then leave it to me. We only need the key and Oghma Infinium." There was sigh then a sudden silence. "Martin?"

"What?"

"Why did you let Arkay bring _her_ here?"

"Because she has the rights to know what you're going to do to her."

"Typical of you, Martin, typical," the voice muttered sourly. "Don't think I don't know you're there, _Kitten_," Annoying's voice called out to her ominously.

* * *

Her eyes snapped open immediately and she grunted at the soreness of her body. Her back was still leaning against the wooden door of her room. Sore, she straightened her back with bones clicking accompanying, then stretched. She froze, hearing more soft voices talking quietly. Immediately she listened. She couldn't break the habit. It saved her life plenty of time for being aware of what's happening to her surrounding.

"…thought of meeting another fellow Blades," a woman's voice said.

"Ex-operative," a familiar voice said decisively. "Here's the old badge of the past."

There was a pause. "So you serve the last Dragonborn emperor then," there was a hint of wistfulness in her voice.

"Uriel Septim only."

"I'm not sure I can believe you as another fellow Blades," the woman's voice turned flat back. "But you gave me no reason to distrust you… yet. Why are you here?"

"Business, as I said before. I was told to watch where Skyrim is going and to look out for a certain… power hungry individual."

"Well it's been quiet except for words of dragons rising."

"Dragons?" the '_s_' stressed out at the end.

"Yes, dragons."

"I've only seen one, a black one actually. Destroyed Helgen."

"A Stormcloak has said similar, and also an Imperial soldier. It's not very often for both of them to agree on something. So it's true then…" there was a pursing sound, "what about your companions?"

"A fellow traveler. The girl I found, and my companion has taken a liking on grooming her," there was disapproving tone in the male's voice.

"Hmph. Well you won't get that much kindness here in Skyrim. The girl's lucky then."

"She was fine. She's been through a lot and wouldn't have survived if she weren't experience in living out in the wilderness."

"Not one of the wandering Forsworn," the voice pondered, "but this far south, I think not. It would be stupid of me to think so. Not a bandit?"

"Had no weapon but only a worn cloth on her back."

"Well it's a miracle she's alive."

"She has the attitude for it."

"I can see that in her eyes. Never mind, we've strayed off topic. If you are that you say you are, have you heard of other members?" the voice asked quickly.

"We're all have forgone and taken another name. Some of us are actually reabsorbed into the current _'blades'_, but the rest, we'll lay low… for now,"

"So I'm not the only one then," the voice said thoughtfully.

"No, but you could be in the whole of Skryim."

"Thanks, for the optimist," she deadpanned. "As expected from a dunmer," the woman voice drawled.

"That's a very racist view."

"Has any shown to be different then?"

"Well… no."

"See what I mean." The voice hummed in amusement. "So you're heading for Whiterun."

"Yes, why?"

"Whiterun has been quiet. Really quiet," the woman's voice said thoughtfully. "I haven't heard news from them, and the last time I did, just two days ago, was from a frightened merchant caravan, looking more like he's fleeing from something."

"That doesn't sound good."

"It could be a delay from the weather. It's been rough for a couple of days."

"Still doesn't make it sound bet—" There was a sound of frantic footsteps running across the wooden floor. "Sul what are you doing?"

"Gotogo! 'tdoanythingstupid…" Annoying's voice trailed off with the sound of door slamming cut the rest off.

She could hear the sound of his running feet thudding the porch in front of the inn.

"Well…you have an odd companion."

"…I don't know why he picked my caravan."

And she doesn't know why she's travelling with them, especially _him_.

* * *

Now Vaden is a patient mer, but Sul has been out more than two hours. And he heard from the local drunk that there's some mage out there, squeezing every drop of rumors from the local's mouth. Vaden took it that Sul was harassing the townsfolk.

The mer sighed then look at the girl who was chewing on the piece pheasant with her hands, granted carefully, not ferally like some wild beast. She looked more contented with the mage gone. He couldn't blame her as the mage had an obsession over table manner.

The entrance door of Sleep Giant's inn burst opened. The mer looked up sharply only to have a leather satchel thrown at his face. Vaden spluttered as the bag dropped from his face and from his lap, onto the floor.

The mage immediately swept in after and seated down beside him. And nonchalantly, he pick the food off the table and started eating. The mer held the urge to growl and snap. Instead, he forcefully smoothen his face and snatched the leather satchel on the ground. Opening it, he scanned the contents then look accusingly at the mage.

"What?" Sul said innocently, holding his cup of mead.

"I appreciate your effort at killing the local plant life for alchemy," Vaden deadpanned then frowned when he examined the bag's content. "Some ingredients I still don't know their properties."

He felt like a virgin alchemist treading his first step on potion making… it was an awful feeling because one wrong step, the potion would explode or he would ended up poisoning himself later. But then that's the thrill of potion of making, isn't it? You either caught yourself in an explosion or be poisoned.

"We've wasted time waiting for you, we should get going," the Dark elf said briskly and stood up, remembering it was already late morning.

"I just got my breakfast here, but hey, let's not make a Dunmer angry," he heard Sul muttered this under his breath. "And Kitten, are those hands greasy. What did I tell you eating with hands!"

Vaden shut the exit door behind him, ignoring the tussle that was soon going to broke out between the wild and the eccentric.


End file.
